


My Dog Fluffy

by bispaceprincess



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellamy has a dog!, F/M, HistoryProfessor!Bellamy, artist!Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:57:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3804454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bispaceprincess/pseuds/bispaceprincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy is falling for the girl who walks his dog everyday, problem is he's never actually met her. When she quits he thinks he's lost his chance. But has he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt I saw on tumblr.  
> "i hired a dog walking company and i’ve never met the person who comes to my apartment but they leave me really cute notes and they give my dog presents and i kind of love them because my dog does and ALSO one of the artists at this gallery opening is hella cute and i want them to paint me like one of their french girls AU"
> 
> Much thanks to the amazing dimplesmcflirt for her help and support!

It had started with a drawing of his dog with three heads.

 

Bellamy had hired a dog walking company because he had finally given up and admitted that his schedule as a professor aiming for tenure at Columbia University was not compatible with responsible dog ownership. He had really tried his hardest, but he couldn’t make the trek back to his shitty Greenpoint apartment from the campus more than once per day without completely losing his mind and he certainly couldn’t leave before 8 each day.

 So he had searched on craigslist for a reliable looking but inexpensive service. _Hey, he didn’t have tenure yet_. The one he finally chose was a small locally owned business that got his attention with a picture of Daniel Radcliffe on their site, walking 12 dogs all at once with the most ridiculous haircut he had ever seen. It was owned by two girls and after a quick interview with one of them at his house he had hired them on.

 

His sister had put her foot down when he’d adopted his dog, declaring that he was not allowed to name him ‘some nerdy Roman shit’. But maybe the name he had landed on still wasn’t that appropriate. Fluffy was 150 pounds of Cane Corso, an Italian breed that had been used as fighters during wars, and whose name translated to ‘protector’ in Latin. He had wanted to name him Cerberus, for the three-headed dog that protected the underworld, but had compromised by naming him Fluffy, after the dog in the first Harry Potter book. Still, he didn’t really look like a Fluffy, and most people gave him confused looks when he told them his name.

Which was why he was surprised when he came back the first evening after he had hired the dog walkers to find a drawing of Fluffy with three heads pinned to the fridge. The person who had drawn it was very talented, but he was pretty sure that the girl he had met with before was not the one responsible. He had only met Raven for a half an hour, but she definitely did not give off the artist vibe. In fact, he was pretty sure that she had mentioned that she was currently in school for engineering. So it must have been the other dog walker, the one he hadn’t met.

That was the problem. He might have been able to shake it off if it had only been the one drawing. He could’ve just enjoyed this kindly stranger getting his reference and been done with it. Unfortunately that wasn’t the end of it. It turned out she wasn’t just getting the Harry Potter reference, because a week later when he walked in he found another drawing pinned next the first one. This one showed the three-headed Fluffy standing beside a Hades that looked suspiciously like him, probably based on one of the pictures of him from his PhD graduation he had hanging up in the living room. He probably should have found it creepy, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel that way. Instead he just felt flattered and maybe a bit smitten. And hey, Fluffy was the happiest he had ever been, and dogs were great judges of character, so she couldn’t be all bad right?

Over the next five months, he got a weekly installment of what he had dubbed ‘The Fluffy Files’. They were the highlights of his week, if he was being completely honest. But he still hadn’t managed to actually meet their creator. He didn’t even know her name, just her initials CEG, which were printed on the bottom of each drawing. He had tried to create his own drawings for her, but found that he completely lacked any artistic talent whatsoever and stick figures were definitely not going to impress her. _Not that he was trying to impress her._ Finally he settled on leaving her short poems, usually epigrams or haikus, based on the drawing from the previous week. She always took them with her, so she must have liked them a little, right? The notes escalated over time, the drawings of Fluffy were sometimes accompanied with other smaller drawings, little snapshots of her life he guessed, but never any self-portraits or names other than her initials.

He tried to imagine what her name was sometimes. Chloe seemed too saccharine. Cassandra would explain the Greek knowledge, but didn’t seem to suit her. He could only hope her name wasn’t Chastity, because then she would have to be either a sorority girl or a stripper, no in between. By the time he started looking up lists of girls names that began with C and trying to imagine her with one of those terrible made up spellings of a regular name ( _Carin, really_?) He knew he had a problem and needed to stop.

But his payment was automated and he couldn’t think up an excuse to ask to meet her without seeming like a creep, so he had resigned himself to just admiring her as an abstract concept. Sure, he felt like he knew her better than he had ever known anyone else, and he knew she was the best artist with the most beautiful mind, but that was probably all it would ever be. Besides, it was totally insane to be halfway in love with someone he had never met, right?

 

Then, they stopped. The first week he didn’t receive a drawing he was a little put out, but figured that she just must be a bit busy. The second week passed by without a drawing and Bellamy started to get worried. By the third week he was panicked. He hadn’t realized how important she had become to him. He had tried to tell himself that everything was okay, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from picking up his phone and calling the number he had in the phone for the dog walking service. 

“ _The Barc Walking Service,_ My name is Raven, how can I help you?” A voice drawled over the phone.

“ Uh, hey, hi. My name is Bellamy Blake, I’m a client of yours.”

“Of course, Mr. Blake, what can I do for you today?”

“I was, uh, I was just wondering if you knew what happened to the girl who’s been walking my dog.”

“You mean Clarke? She no longer works here.”

“Oh,” Bellamy replied, trying to keep his disappointment out his voice.

“Is there a problem with the new walker? I kinda had to hire him last minute when she left.”

“Oh, no no, no problem. I was just wondering. I should go. Thank you for your help,” Bellamy stammered out, clicking his phone shut.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later his sister was dragging him out of his bed on Saturday evening.

“Ugh Bell, I don’t know what is up with you lately but you have to leave your apartment,” Octavia chided. “And take a shower, you smell.”

“I’m not in the mood, O,” Bellamy whined. “I have been so busy getting ready for the conference next month, I just want to relax.”

“As if,” She retorted. “You’ve been moping around for the past month, if I didn’t know any better I would say you’d been dumped, but lord knows you haven’t been on a date in a year.”

“Hey, I go on dates…” Bellamy started to say in protest, but quieted when he saw the skeptical look on Octavia’s face.

“Whatever loser. Just go take a shower, you’re coming out with me tonight. I’m not taking no for an answer. You haven’t come out with me in months”

Bellamy was well acquainted with how stubborn Octavia was; he had raised her after all. He knew how futile it would be to argue, so he trudged off to the shower.

 

He exited 20 minutes later, smelling significantly better, but came to a halt when he saw Octavia bent over the table with a pile of drawings in front of her.

“Bell, what are these?”

Bellamy rushed over to take them back, but was not as quick as her.

 

> “ _Birth, youth and old age_
> 
> _The past, present and future_
> 
> _Three heads, no meaning.”_

Octavia read aloud. “Seriously Bell, what is this?”

Bellamy brought his hand up to scrub the back of his neck sheepishly as he tried to tamp down the blush that was rushing to his cheeks. She had just read the first poem he had written for her. He had made another copy later on.

“It’s nothing, O, just some drawings. Not a big deal.”

Of course that would not placate Octavia, who could smell Bellamy's discomfort from a mile away and reveled in cultivating it when it was related to potential romantic partners.

“So you wouldn’t mind telling me who drew them, since the last time I checked you could barely draw a straight line.”

“hernameisclarke” he mumbled quickly.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I said her name is Clarke,” he repeated, slightly louder.

“And she is?” Octavia demanded.

“She was the one who walked Fluffy,” he tried to say casually.

“Walked as in past tense.”

_Damn, he could never get anything past her._

“Uh, yeah, she quit or something about a month ago”

“A month you say?” Octavia replied with a crafty look.

_Damnit, he shouldn’t have said it was a month. Now she knew._

“Yep, a month” he let out in a strangled voice.

“And how long have you known her?”

“6 months, I guess”

“You don’t know?”

“Well we never actually met.” He said with a grimace.

“So you’ve never seen her, you’ve just been exchanging notes?”

Bellamy nodded dejectedly. After a moments pause she chirped out an “okay.”

“Okay?” He said suspiciously. This was almost certainly a trap.

“Okay,” she replied with a decisive nod of her head. “Well, go get dressed, we’re going to be late.”

“For what?” Bellamy tried, but Octavia shook her head while gesturing zipping her mouth shut, so he went to his room to dress for his night out, without any idea where it was he was going.

 

Bellamy had just figured that Octavia was going to drag him out with some of her friends to one of their usual bars but when they got on the 1 uptown he knew that was wrong.

“O, where are we going?”

“I have a friend who’s having her first real art show opening tonight. I told you about it weeks ago.”

“And you’re dragging me along because…?”

“Besides the fact you’re clearly an art connoisseur now?” Octavia retorted with a lift of an eyebrow.

Bellamy rolled his eyes as she continued, “Fine, because I want you to meet my friend. I think you guys will really hit it off.”

“O, how many times do I have to tell you to stop trying to set me up with your friends? It’s weird.”

“Probably never again. Seriously, Bell, she’s perfect for you."

“I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”

“Why?” Octavia asked. “Because you’re still not over your dog walker?”

“No,” Bellamy scoffed. That was just ridiculous. There was nothing to get over. I mean he hadn’t even met her. “I’m just really busy is all.”

“Well, that’s a terrible reason,” Octavia replied.

“You’re always going to be busy Bell, that’s just what you do. It doesn’t mean you should never try and be with someone who will make you happy. Besides you’re completely over your dog walker, so what do you have to lose?” She added with a cheeky grin.

“Fine, fine, you’re right. It’s a bad excuse. Still doesn’t mean I want you to set me up with your friends. If I promise I’ll try and put myself out there more will you give it up?”

“Allllllllright,” she capitulated. “But, we’re still going to the show, because I promised my friend we would come and she’s actually really good. And don’t worry, I didn’t tell her I was going to try and set you two up. So we can just go and enjoy the art and the free wine. Sound good?”

“Okay,” Bellamy said as he wrapped an arm around Octavia’s shoulder and ruffled her hair with the other. She let out a squeak of protest, but the smile on her face said she really didn’t mind at all.

 

* * *

 

By the time they arrived at the gallery, a large one in Chelsea, which meant Octavia was not lying about what a huge deal this was, Bellamy had resolved to put Clarke out of his mind. They had never met, were probably never going to meet, and their exchanged notes had probably not meant anything to her, since she hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye.

The gallery was large, with high ceilings that gave it a light, airy feel. It was dark outside, and the bright lights illuminating the works made it impossible to see onto the street through the windows. Octavia happily presented two admission tickets and someone offered to take their coats, giving them tickets to retrieve them at the end of the evening before ushering them into the space.

Bellamy tried his hardest to keep his mouth shut. Sure, he was a professor and had spent his fair share of time at museums, but usually they were the historical variety, not art. Artifacts from Bronze-Age Europe were beautiful, no doubt, but nothing compared to what was on the walls here.

They were giant paintings, at least 8 feet by 11 feet, depicting abstractions of bodies writhing in pain and ecstasy. It was carnal and savage, veins protruding from grasping hands that flowed into a wisp. Taut jawlines being attacked by lips that looked glossy and swollen. The only vivid color was the bright red blood that flushed on the surface of the bodies; the rest was a wash of light shadows and dark bruises. The body parts were of varying ages, some clearly child-like, but others were withered and wrinkled. There were no complete figures, they were just hinted at with shards of limbs, but there was no mistaking how each person was represented completely on the canvas.

Octavia flitted off to the refreshments without a word, leaving him standing in awe before the largest of the paintings. He was so deep in contemplation he didn’t notice the girl who came up to stand beside him.

“What do you think of the piece?” She asked, startling him.

Now that she had his attention, he was surprised he hadn’t noticed her before. She was stunning. She was wearing a tight red dress that went down to just below her knees and delicate gold heels that added a few inches to her petite stature. Her light blonde hair was curled softly around her shoulders and her bright blue eyes were surrounded by smoky makeup that made them look piercing and sharp. Clearly he had taken too long in his perusal of her, because she lifted her eyebrows in question.

“Oh, uh, I love it,” he stuttered out. When she continued to look at him without saying anything he continued. “I can’t tell if they’re devouring one another or having the most intense sex I have ever seen.”

“Can you really have the latter without the former?”

Bellamy tried to contain his surprise by placing a thoughtful look on his face.

“Maybe not. It’s like they only come into focus when they’re touching. Everything else is like a haze, not real,” Bellamy mused. “You can almost see their whole life on the canvas, but not in a way that simplifies it, in a way that shows how it is the most beautiful and complicated thing there ever could be. It’s just… it’s beautiful and it’s painful. It has the softness of the child, but the hardness of the old. It has the tenderness of their lovemaking, but also the violence of their grasping at life with everything they have. I love it.”

“ _Birth, youth and old age, the past, present and future, three heads, no meaning,”_ She whispered softly, eyes on the canvas in front of them.

“What was that?” Bellamy said in a shocked vocie. But they were interrupted by Octavia’s return.

“Hey Bell, I see you’ve met my friend, Clarke”

“Clarke?” he exclaimed. Then he looked to the bottom corner of the painting in front of him and there it was, CEG. “You’re CEG?”

“Wait, you’re Octavia’s brother?” She asked back.

They shared a surprised look with one another and burst into laughter. Finally their laughter died down and they just looked at one another.

“Well there’s something I thought I'd never see,” Octavia quipped. Bellamy turned to glare at his sister but was distracted as Clarke began to speak to him.

“Octavia has been trying to set me up with you basically since I met her. Trouble was I had a bit of a crush on one of my dog walking clients.”

By this point Bellamy had recovered a little bit and he replied with a smirk, “Is that so, Princess?”

She nodded with a bright smile.

“Where did you go then?” He asked.

“Finally caught my big break into the art world. I was getting ready for this show and basically haven’t left my studio in a month.”

“I called the service two weeks ago, but your partner, Raven, just said you left unexpectedly.”

“I thought about trying to send a note through her, but I was worried that it would creep you out,” Clarke confided.

“I’m pretty sure since we’ve only communicated with drawings and poems and I’m already crazy about you, there’s nothing you could do to creep me out.” _Shit, he hadn’t meant to admit that._

Clarke was about to reply when one of the gallery employees interrupted them and told her she had a big potential client she needed to speak to. Clarke shot him an apologetic look and followed her away with a wave.

 

“You knew,” Bellamy accused, as he turned to Octavia.

“Not until tonight I swear!” She responded, holding her hands up in surrender. “But what are the chances?”

Bellamy tried to keep a stern look on his face, but he was too happy for that. A smile crept on his face as he thought back to a few moments ago.

“Ooooooh, you like her!” Octavia teased. “It’s official! I, Octavia Blake, am the best matchmaker in the world.”

“I’m pretty sure you didn’t do the matchmaking here, O”

“But you don’t deny you like her! I still win!”

 

With that Octavia bounded off across the gallery towards a worryingly tall and muscular man with neck tattoos. Bellamy was about to follow her and try and stop her, or at least stand there threateningly, when he felt a soft hand on his elbow. It was Clarke.

“Hey,” she said as he turned around. “I’m going to be pretty busy tonight, have to be a good artist and all, but I should be done by 11 if maybe you want to wait.”

She bit her lip nervously as she waited for his reply.

Her nervousness made him feel heady and in control. He replied with a smirk, “Not a problem, Princess.”

All of that bravado rushed away when she reached up to whisper in his ear, “Good, because I've been dying to paint you ever since I saw your picture”

His smirk deepened.

She began to walk away, but then looked over her shoulder and said with a wink, "I hope you know how to pose."

And suddenly, standing in the middle of the gallery as he watched her hips swaying as she walked away, he didn't feel like he was in control anymore. 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke paints her new 'belle amie'.

True to her word, Clarke had been busy the rest of the evening. Bellamy watched her as she flitted from group to group with a smile, exuding natural charm. She was obviously in her element, and Bellamy found it hard to drag his gaze away from her.

He wasn’t sure whether or not he was glad that he hadn’t known how beautiful she was when he first started communicating with her. Maybe if he had known then he wouldn’t be as nervous as he felt right now. But then maybe he would have been even more nervous and they would never have exchanged notes and grown close like they had.

He had spent some time with Octavia, but she was now completely enraptured by the tall man from before, so after a quick conversation to ascertain that he wasn’t a complete creep Bellamy wandered off to quiet corner of the space to wait. He was a protective older brother, sure, but he still wasn’t interested in watching Octavia unabashedly flirt with someone. After he got her to promise to stop by his apartment to look after Fluffy, he left her to her own devices. The poor guy wasn’t even going to know what hit him.

 

Soon enough the night was slowing down, the crowd thinning out. Bellamy saw Clarke speaking with the two women he had deducted owned the gallery. They were smiling broadly at her as they pointed to a clipboard held in their hands. The taller woman brought her in for a hug, then released her with a squeeze of the shoulder and headed away. The other gave her a brief handshake and followed her partner away. Finally, Clarke turned her head and caught his eye and broke into a smile of her own as she crossed the gallery to him.

 

“Hey,” he breathed out when she reached him, trying to sound confident but failing completely.

“Sorry to keep you waiting for so long”

“It’s fine, I had fun people watching.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling staring at me now?” She asked with a smirk.

“Just admiring the artwork,” he replied.

She raised an eyebrow at that remark but didn’t reply.

“So,” he continued. “Tell me, what prompted you to draw my dog?”

“Well, it’s not every day you meet a mythology _and_ Harry Potter fan.”

“But how did you know?”

“Oh please, one look at your bookshelf gave you away.”

“Don’t you know it’s rude to snoop on your clients?”

“But oh so fun” she replied with a wink.

“I guess the clientele are better with the new job.”

“They are less likely to drool on me, or hump my leg, at least so far. But I wouldn’t say better all around. I mean I wasn’t inspired to start any pictorial conversations with any of them.”

“Well I am very inspiring, it’s true.”

“Yeah,” she said, reaching out to touch his arm. “You are.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” She continued as she walked towards the door.

 

After they had grabbed their coats they exited the building. He tried and failed not to stare as she brought her hand to her mouth and let out a loud whistle, causing a taxi to immediately pull over.

“You’re good at that,” He said. “I never seem to be able to get a taxi when I need one.”

“It’s all about being good with your mouth,” she replied as she slid over to make room for him in the back before turning to the driver. “1st and 9th please.”

The time she was distracted with the driver gave Bellamy the chance to snap his mouth shut again before she turned back to him.

“I know it’s not far, but I’ve been on my feet in these awful heels all night.”

“Oh, that’s fine…” He said, not knowing what else to say. He settled for watching her out of the corner of this eye as their taxi weaved through the late night traffic, admiring how the streetlights and headlights moved across her face causing it refuse to settle on one countenance.

 

All too quickly, they pulled up in front of a building and exited the taxi after paying. As she unlocked the front door he gave his head a quick shake and internally chided himself to _get his shit together_. Sure, if she was half as great as she seemed from her artwork he would probably fall all the rest of the way in love with her, but that was no reason to keep acting like a giddy virginal teenager. Though he couldn’t remember the last time he was this wrought with anticipation over a girl. The door swung open and she looked over her shoulder sending him a brilliant smile as she grabbed his hand and pulled him up the stairs.

Once they got inside Bellamy looked around. The space was open and airy; it had obviously been converted from some industrial space. It was small ( _hey this was New York),_ but the high ceilings and lack of dividing walls made it seem larger than it was. The area was broken up into 3 main spaces, a living room with a comfy looking chair and couch, a bedroom that was concealed by a gauzy curtain and finally an area covered in a drop cloth with an easel resting on top.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked as she toed off her heels.

“Sure, what have you got?”

“Well, I have some ludicrously overpriced Pinot Noir I stole from a gallery opening last week, orange juice that may be sentient by now and bourbon.”

“That’s an interesting array,” he chuckled. “Is the wine overpriced and bad or overpriced but good?”

“I don’t know, let’s find out.”

She padded over to the kitchen that was in an alcove off the main room, and retrieved the bottle along with one wine glass and a mug that read ‘not paint water’ on the side.

“Sorry about the lack of good glassware, Raven decided to conduct some sort of experiment as payback for my quitting and all my wineglasses became collateral damage,” she explained as she poured. She handed the proper glass over to him and their fingers touching made butterflies explode in his stomach. He was pretty sure he didn’t imagine how they lingered for a second more than necessary and the parting of her lips that indicated that he was not the only one affected.

“To mythical dogs,” she said as she raised her glass.

“And the artists who draw them,” he added.

They both took a sip, then promptly spit it back into their cups.

“Overpriced and bad,” they shouted in unison, then burst into laughter. When they finally stopped laughing they found they had moved close during the outburst. One of her hands was gripping his shoulder while the other clutched her stomach. Their eyes met and a heavy anticipatory silence fell over them. Their eyes locked and they moved unconsciously closer. Bellamy saw her tongue dart out quickly to wet her lips and swallowed hard. They held each others gaze for a moment and he slowly leaned in to kiss her but she pulled away with a grin.

“Nuh uh uh,” she scolded with a wag of her finger, “First I get to paint you.”

“Oh, I thought you were joking about that…”

“Mais non,” she said in a posh accent. “maintenant que nous savons de l'autre, tu es ma belle amie”

“So what? You want to paint me like one of your French girls?”

“Mhm,” she hummed. “So, strip.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” he drawled, lifting one eyebrow. “You only want me for my body.”

“Okay, you’re right, fair’s fair.”

With that she reached behind her, pulled her zipper down and then slid the straps of her dress off her shoulders. With a shimmy of her hips the rest of the dress fell to the ground in a puddle around her feet, leaving her standing in front of him in just a black lacy strapless bra and a pair of matching panties that were so small they should have been illegal.

He stood frozen on the spot unable to form coherent thoughts; his eyes were wide with shock as he took all of her in. When his roving gaze reached her face a quirk of her eyebrow let him know that he had taken too long to properly react.

She took a step towards him and brought her hands up to his tie, pulling it loose. He bent down slightly so should could pull it up over his head. He started to bring his hands up to start unbuttoning his shirt but dropped them back down when she shook her head and began doing it herself. He could feel the light brush of her slim fingers with each button. When she tugged the bottom of the shirt out of his pants to get to the last buttons he let out a shuttered breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. She looked up at him as she finally placed her soft hands on his hips then drew them up his chest to his shoulders to push his shirt off.

Dying to kiss her Bellamy drew a long steadying breath to hold himself still as her hands dropped again to unbutton his pants now. Clarke’s restraint broke before his did. With a low moan, she slid one hand around his nape and kissed him with a raw urgent hunger, pressing herself against his now rigid length and glorying in the shudder that racked his body as her other hand pushed his pants down his legs. She drew his bottom lip between her teeth and bit down forcing a low moan out of him before she drew back.

“Now, go sit on the stool, I need to get my paints out.”

He bent down to take off his socks quickly then did as she said. When he turned to look at her she had taken off her bra but put on a paint-covered smock that just barely covered her breasts. When she heard his hum of approval she smirked, “Don’t want to get all dirty.”

He shifted nervously on the stool, posing for a girl he was halfway in love with (though after tonight it was probably three quarters) in polka dot boxers and a hard on wasn’t exactly his comfort zone.

“How do you want me?”

“However you want, I’m going to do some figure sketches first if that’s alright, so you can move around however feels comfortable.”

“I think that’s the problem, none of this is really comfortable for me. I’ve never really done this before.”

“Aw, I get your posing cherry. Lucky me. Okay, we’ll start with an easy one, the thinker.”

“By Rodin?”

“Exactly, I figured if I gave you something mythological you’d overthink it.”

“Hey! I’ve been told I have a body like a Greek god.”

“Priapus maybe,” she retorted as she pointedly dropped her gaze downwards.

 

They bantered back and forth as she directed him through a number of poses. By the time she was ready to begin painting his nerves had melted away. Her soft hands positioned him in a slightly challenging, but comfortable pose, leaving smudges of charcoal from her earlier work. As she headed behind her easel he could still feel the warmth of her hands on him.

While she painted they talked. First him, there was something about the quiet intimacy of the scene that made him open up in a way he had never before. He told her all about his life, how he had never really known his father, how he had basically raised his sister when her father too left them, how his mother worked three menial jobs to make ends meet and was always gone. He told her how the minimum wage jobs did not come with health insurance, so when she got sick she couldn’t afford the treatments she needed and had hid her illness from her children until it was too late to do anything. He told her how he had turned 18 and suddenly was responsible for his 12-year-old sister with no support, how scared he had been, how he was sure that he was going to fail her some way that she would be taken from him. He told her how through all of that he pursued his dream to become a professor, all the energy and time he had after the jobs and looking after Octavia had gone to that, but now that he was almost there he felt almost adrift. He’d only been able to have one dream so what was he supposed to do when he got it?

When it came time for her to paint his face and she needed him to be still she told him about her life, more than just the snippets she had drawn for him. She told him about her idyllic childhood in Seattle, with her surgeon mother and engineer turned stay at home dad. How that had all been ripped from her when she was 16 when her father died in a car accident and her mother had thrown herself into her work, in so much pain that she couldn’t be there for her daughter. How she had tried to be like her mother and became single-minded in her focus to become a doctor herself until she was betrayed by her now ex-girlfriend who sabotaged her applications for med school to give herself a better chance and she realized that she hated every one she had spent the last 4 years competing against and hated the person she had become. So she applied to art school in New York, where her dad was from originally and moved here. How she had learned that even though New York was one of the biggest cities in the world, you could go weeks without actually talking to someone, and it had taken her so long to find anyone to be herself with. How she had struggled to finally make her break into the art scene, but now that she had she was more scared than ever. What if she disappointed everyone, and she no longer had anonymity to hide behind.

They talked, and she painted, for hours. Bellamy was never usually someone who could talk with another person for that long. He either got bored, or frustrated, or just wanted to go back to his books, but she was different. Their communication through artwork and poems had brought down the walls that both of them had put up over their lives. It wasn’t like he was talking with someone he had just met; it felt like they had known each other forever. It wasn’t like he had felt incomplete before this because they were their own people, not that she was his other half, but like his soul had seen her and kind of went ‘oh, there you are. I’ve been looking for you.’

 

A clatter from the paintbrush being dropped down interrupted him as he spoke about the time Octavia had challenged three seniors to a fight when she was just a freshman for making fun of her friend Monty for being gay.

“Done!” she chimed. “Come and take a look.”

He came out of the pose slowly, wincing at the stiffness from holding it for so long and walked around to the other side of the easel to look at the finished product.

It was similar in style to the ones he had seen earlier in the gallery, but instead of two people it was just him. It was like a photo that had been double exposed, or should he say triple exposed. There he was three times on the canvas the heads melding together but the faces remained separate. On the left his head was tipped upwards, eyes closed and he could just make out rain dripping down his face. The expression on that face was of pure joy. On the right the face was cast downward, the eyes staring at some point unseen but were unfocused with despair almost as if she had captured him at his lowest moment. He could feel the desolation and self-hatred. But the middle was his favorite. He was looking straight at the viewer, his mouth was softly parted and his eyes were filled with equal measures of awe, hope and relief. The whole piece was done in the same soft muted colors of her others; he could see the slightly swollen redness of his lips in contrast to the lightly freckled tan of his skin. The soft colors were juxtaposed against the hardness of his muscled arms and neck.

He had been staring for so long, so rapt in his examination of the artwork, that her soft voice startled him. “Do you like it?”

He didn’t know how to vocalize how it made him feel. He felt like she had drawn the essence of who he was and rendered it in the most beautiful way. It was as if she had bared his soul to her and accepted every bit, the good the bad and the ugly. He felt exposed and vulnerable and completely understood.

“It…it’s perfect,” he managed to say.

“Well, now I know you like it, usually you’re much better with words.”

“You’ve rendered me speechless,” he replied turning to face her.

 

She was still in the smock, covered in more paint now, and he could make out the gentle curve of her breasts on either side of the top. The tie was looped around the front and drawn tight around her small waist, emphasizing the curve of her hips on each side. Behind her he could just make out the pink glow that preceded sunrise, illuminating her like a goddess.

He took a step closer to her, dragging his gaze up from her bare legs to meet her eyes.

“It’s a good thing I know something we can do that doesn’t involve speaking, well not much.” With that she reached up, closing the distance between them and pressed her lips to his. It took him a moment to respond, but once his brain caught up he tangled one hand into her hair and deepened the kiss. She parted her lips as he dragged the other down her waist and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue slickly across hers. He tried to restrain the moan the taste of her elicited. She was sweet; he could just make out the slight berry flavor from the sip of wine hours earlier, and a hint of wood, from when she had been chewing on the end of her paintbrush. He had been fantasizing about kissing her all night, but reality was a million times better than his imagination had been able to create.

When he pulled away to catch his breath he was pretty sure that his face mirrored the middle one on the painting behind him. She must have had the same thought because her face broke out into a brilliant smile, and he couldn’t help but pull her to him and kiss her again.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed the length of her body against his. Her soft curves yielded to his hard muscles as he wrapped his arms around her waist and crushed her against him. Not breaking their kiss she pulled them backwards towards the wall. When they reached it he unwound his arms and slid one underneath the smock to palm her breast. The other slid down to cup her ass and he surged against her, taking advantage of the wall to increase the pressure he could exert.

He dragged his mouth away from hers to suck her earlobe as he moved his hand to the front to cup her mound, the damp lace catching slightly on the calluses of his fingertips. He rubbed at her cleft and groaned when he heard the catch of her breath when hit just the right spot.

“B-Bellamy, please- I need more.”

He knew when he heard her pleading tone that he was never going to be able to deny her anything. He slipped his fingers into her panties and spread her folds, sliding around the clit for now to tease the entrance of her heat. He pressed one finger into her; she was so wet it went in without any resistance and he laid sucking kisses to her neck. When he brought his thumb up to brush against her nub he could feel the increase in her pulse against his lips.

She brought her fingers up to untie the smock, but he caught her before she could.

“Oh no, I’m not done with you wearing that yet,” he said as he sank to his knees.

He hooked his fingers around her underwear and dragged them down her legs, giving her a tap on the knee to indicate she should lift her foot so he could remove them completely before pressing soft kisses up her leg. Hitching one leg over his shoulder he parted her folds and licked a broad stroke reveling in the salty sweet taste. To the tune of her whimpers and moans above him he spelled out all the poems he had written her over the past six months on her clit. He pushed one then two fingers into her and as he spelt out the last poem he pressed against the spot inside her that had elicited whimpers every time he touched it so far and she tumbled over the edge with a string of ‘ _ohmygodohmygods_ ’.

 

He sat back on his heels and looked up at her, admiring how the heaving breaths she took showed off her glorious breasts. When she finally caught her breath she hooked her hand under his arm and dragged him up and over to the bedroom area, stopping at the foot of the bed to pull him into a deep kiss. He undid the tie around her waist and pulled the smock off her, throwing it back across the room before turning to look at her standing naked before him. _God she was beautiful._

With a growl that rumbled from deep in his chest, Bellamy threw Clarke onto her back and moved on top of her. Securely pinning her hands under his, he sighed contentedly before letting his mouth travel leisurely along the soft skin of her neck, her shoulders then drop to the firm pale skin of her breasts. He sucked her rosy nipple into his mouth, causing her to let out a moan that sent a jolt straight to his groin. He wanted to take this slow, but it seemed impossible with how out of control he felt now. He wasn’t the only one; she continued to writhe restlessly below him as he moved from the first nipple to the other, the soft light from rising sun cast a golden glow on her skin.

She took advantage of his momentary lack of concentration to flip them over and straddle him. Clarke ground against him as she bent down and captured his mouth again. He could feel her wetness seeping into the front of his boxers, increasing the friction caused by her steady movement on top of him.

“C-condom?” he stuttered out when she shifted her body against him harder. She nodded and reached over him into the nightstand. He pulled himself out from under her reluctantly, to pull off his last piece of clothing and couldn’t help but smirk when she turned back and dropped the condom wrapper on the bed when she saw him standing naked before her.

She shifted over until she sat on the edge of the bed. Gaze locked with his, she tore the wrapper off the condom, then dropped it downwards.

Bellamy steeled himself for her touch; the way her eyes had grown wide at the sight of him had nearly broken his already thin control. He closed his eyes in preparation, but nothing could really prepare him for the feel of her small, slightly callused hands encircling him. His cock jerked in response and he almost impossibly grew harder. He could feel her breath on him and god, if only she would open her lips and- _oh god_. As he fantasized about her taking him into her mouth, she did it. Her tongue darted out and licked around the head, letting out a hum of approval, before she took him into her mouth. When he groaned in appreciation she applied suction that shrank his attention to nothing more than the feeling of his cock hard and pulsing inside her hot mouth. _Oh god._

But he wanted more, so he placed a hand on her should and pushed her off, stuttering out a “you have to stop before I....” when she gave him a questioning look.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” she replied with a smile, as she opened the condom and deftly rolled it onto him before moving back onto the bed and quirking an eyebrow up at him. He followed her, settling into the cradle of her thighs and locking eyes.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, bringing a hand to her cheek.

“I’m not the one who’s a model,” she replied with a smile and then added “Please Bellamy, I need you.”

He positioned himself at her entrance and pushed into her slowly but surely. He had thought her mouth was overwhelming, but this was a whole other level. He dropped his forehead to her shoulder as he drew in a steadying breath. He rocked into her a little more and she arched up, trying to take him all in, breaking the last thread of his control. He surged into her now, burying himself to the hilt and started to fuck her with slow, long strokes, pulling out almost entirely only to push right back in. He managed to keep up that rhythm for a several minutes, the sounds of their combined gasps and moans urging him on, before he switched to a more purposeful grind, which caused her to whimper. He positioned himself so that his pubic bone ground down on her clit every time he bottomed out. He could feel her getting closer and closer to her climax, her cunt rippling spasmodically over his cock.

He captured her mouth for a quick wet kiss before dropping his lips to her neck and pleading between hard kisses for her to “Come with me baby, I wanna feel your pussy coming around my cock.” But even as he said it, he realized she didn’t need urging as he felt her pulsing thickly around him causing him to topple along with her, their matching moans filling the room.

He dropped to his elbows as he felt the pleasure of his orgasm ripple through him. After a moment of recovery he rolled off her and disposed the condom in the wastebasket beside the bed before flopping onto his back beside her.

“That was-“

“Amazing,” she said before he could finish his sentence.

“I was going to say incredible.”

“Semantics,” she retorted, rolling over to her side and placing her head cheekily on her hand with a shit-eating grin on her face.

He tried to come up with a sassy reply of his own, but found that the early morning sun shining through the window behind her made her golden hair look like a halo and he just couldn’t find the words, so he just nodded his agreement with what was probably the dopiest looking smile on his face.

 

The fact that they had just stayed up all night seemed to catch up with her all at once; he could see her eyes drooping so he reached out an arm to gather her against him. With a happy sigh, she rested her head on his shoulder and draped one leg across his middle and hummed when he pulled the sheets to cover them. He could feel her breathing even out and slow as she fell asleep on him.

When he was almost sure she was asleep he gathered the courage to trace the line of her waist delicately before dipping his head and murmuring into her hair  
_“Light shadows, dark bruises_  
_His soul laid bare before her_  
_Exposed by each stroke_ ”

Then he succumbed to sleep himself missing the soft smile that spread across her face.

 

It had all started with a poem about a dog with three heads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow guys, sorry that took so long to get finished. Blah blah school work and losing inspiration, y'know the drill. Hope you enjoyed.  
> P.s bonus points to anyone who can identify the three scenes I used as references for Bellamy's expressions in the painting.  
> I always love hearing what you thought, so leave a comment if you want!  
> Come talk to me on tumblr at [Klokkombikru](http://klokkombikru.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr](http://klokkombikru.tumblr.com/)


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